My Cinderella
by tropical.waters
Summary: He promised you a palace. I promised to make you laugh. [One Shot]


You looked beautiful that night. I thought maybe you should know. It isn't my place to tell you something like that. Not anymore. But I needed to, because I need to move on.

I hated the day your father died, because I knew that you would be left with only your stepmother and stepsisters, and anyone could see they were jealous of you. The sight of you crying at his burial made my heart break into a thousand pieces, and it took a long time to gather them back. I hated the way they made you work. I hated the way they treated you, and you told me not to worry. I still did, though. I thought about you all the time.

They called you "Cinderella," because you had to tend the fire. But it was all right, you said, because your name was really Elena, and that was all that mattered. I remember market days. I would pretend I was doing something so that I could sit and wait for you and help you carry home your packages.

I thought I had a chance with you back then. I thought maybe you could love someone like me. But I guess you never noticed the way I looked at you, the way I admired your green eyes and your dark hair. When you lamented that it wasn't golden like your mother's, I couldn't understand why. You were beautiful to me.

Your stepmother squandered your inheritance away, but it was all right, because I thought then you could consider me. I was only the wood-worker's apprentice, not rich or handsome or well-known, but I loved you. And the day before you went to the ball, I told you how I felt. I told you that I had nothing to offer but my hands and my heart, and that I could make you laugh. You did laugh because you thought I was joking.

I wasn't, but I smiled and laughed with you, just enjoying your company.

I went to the ball, too. My master was the king's favorite wood-worker; he had done all the molding and banisters and furniture in the castle. I arrived there, and I didn't expect to see you, because I knew your stepmother would try to keep you home. Then I saw you. You were standing alone, shy and reserved, and I admired the gleam of the candles on your dark curls. No one recognized you but me, and I was momentarily stunned by your beauty, by your grace and poise. I didn't know where you'd gotten the dress from, but it was deep green, and it made your eyes a lustrous jade.

I pushed through the crowd, trying to reach you, but just before I did, _he _approached you. We both knew who he was. We were both shocked. You hesitated, but you said yes, and my face fell.

The prince had asked you to dance, and you said yes.

So I watched helplessly, my heart aching at the way you smiled at him, at the way he made you blush. While I had worked so hard to try to win your affection, he only had to say a few words and you were mesmerized. I tried to reassure myself that I would get a chance to dance with you; after all, the prince never danced with any girl more than once.

But he danced with you the entire night, and I couldn't stand any more. I left before you did. I couldn't watch you with him. The next day, it was announced: you were marrying the prince. I raced into the woods and ran until I couldn't stand any more. And then I cried. I hadn't cried for years.

I wasn't invited to your wedding because I wasn't important enough to merit an invitation. Maybe you wanted me to be there. Maybe it just wasn't allowed. But either way, you became his wife. You promised to be his, and it was over.

I loved you, but you never noticed me. He was a _man _while I was only a _boy_. You didn't seem to realize I was your age, that I would die for you.

Your fairy-tale came true, not mine.

He promised you a palace. I promised to make you laugh.

He thought you were beautiful in your new gowns. I thought you were beautiful in old rags with dirt on your cheek.

You became his princess when you were crowned. You were always my princess, even when we waded barefoot in the creek.

So maybe it was for the best. Maybe we were never meant to be.

But either way, even though you are his Queen, you'll always be my little Cinderella.


End file.
